


When the Poets Speak of Death

by scarletrebel



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 04:03:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17276726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletrebel/pseuds/scarletrebel
Summary: She takes a step towards the couch, then another. Just cresting her vision is a chair on its side, pieces of paper on the floor more chaotic than usual. The pattern is unfocused, hurried, and careless. Not Grier. Then there’s a thud, and she turns harshly to a figure leaning comfortably in the doorway to Grier’s bedroom.“Who are you?” She lies. He looks up and smirks at her, his smile drawn up on one side. His beady eyes rake her in and it makes her feel sick to have such a gaze upon her. Lithe fingers drum against the leather bound book in his hands, no doubt slammed moments ago in order to grab her attention.Toland intends to intimidate her. The thought would make her laugh, if the implications of him being here didn’t fill her with dread.





	When the Poets Speak of Death

**Author's Note:**

> so @mrpinstripesuit has this real cool [victorian au](https://pinstripe-s.tumblr.com/tagged/victorian-au) which has a lot of penny dreadful vibes and they got me into the show last year, so this has kind of been sitting around for a while aha - this has been nice to work on on the side and i figured id start off the new year right with something short and... well. angsty, cause ya’ll know me. 

It’s raining in London. Fat drops of water fall harshly from the storm clouds gathering atop the brick buildings, bouncing off of the cobbles and back up under Avia’s trousers. She pulls her hat firmly onto her head, mousy brown hair tucked away underneath. This isn’t a job – regardless, the less people that know she’s here the better.

And she knows her way well, helpful when the rain falls heavy and she can keep a look down at her shoes as she endures the weather on her journey. The cold air pinches her cheeks, her face a constant scowl. She looks up when she rounds the last corner. The door to the building hangs off its hinges, so as it comes into view she picks up the pace and leaps across the threshold.

With the rain behind her, she shoves the broken door as closed as she can, knowing it’ll bounce back from the hinge. At least the cold will have a harder time getting in, she thinks, as she pulls her hat off and gives it a shake with disdain. Then she looks up. Hungry eyes look down at her from a staircase against the wall, even more so between the brackets of where the stairs curl upwards. Then they look away quickly, fidgeting, going back to some kind of wayward conversation or coughing into moth-bitten gloves. She picks up her chin, throwing her hat onto the lap of a small child on the first step as she ascends.

She looks down on the people scattered about the staircase as she walks up. For them, this is home, she knows. Fidgety hands diving into pockets that are close to falling apart; eyes raking over her person to see if there’s anything worth taking and fast. As much as she’d like to see them try, there isn’t. Not tonight, not when she’s just visiting.  

She makes a sharp left at the very top of the staircase, proceeding all the way to the end of the hallway. There, she knocks on Grier’s door. It opens slightly in response.

She frowns. Then pushes it, the slow groan of the hinges echoes throughout the building. She unbuttons her waistcoat then, hand diving into the pocket in the seam. An ornate knife greets her fingers, and she pushes into the room, closing the door behind her.

His flat is a mess as per usual. She hasn’t seen it in any state of tidy since she met the young scientist, but as they’ve become closer it started to speak to his nature. One of obsessive, meticulous study and research at any cost. Including himself.

(And, she supposes, she likes that the more she visited, the less he felt the need to make it any sort of proper.)

She takes a step towards the couch, then another. Just cresting her vision is a chair on its side, pieces of paper on the floor more chaotic than usual. The pattern is unfocused, hurried, and careless. Not Grier. Then there’s a thud, and she turns harshly to a figure leaning comfortably in the doorway to Grier’s bedroom.

“Who are you?” She lies. He looks up and smirks at her, his smile drawn up on one side. His beady eyes rake her in and it makes her feel sick to have such a gaze upon her. Lithe fingers drum against the leather bound book in his hands, no doubt slammed moments ago in order to grab her attention.

Toland intends to intimidate her. The thought would make her laugh, if the implications of him being here didn’t fill her with dread.

“You, young lady, may call me Toland.” He rasps. “I’m an acquaintance of Master Grier.”

“An acquaintance?” She asks, drawing her hand from her pocket and crossing her arms. “He’s never mentioned you to me,” she lies again, watching his features. Insult, as his eyebrows knit together and his jaw clenches. Then he makes an effort to conceal the emotion, smiling again, putting the book that clearly doesn’t belong to him behind his back.

“Former mentor, then. I can understand why he wouldn’t want to mention me to such a lovely young woman.”

Avia holds back her gag, and laughs complacently instead. “Oh, it’s nothing like that I’m afraid.”

“A shame,” he walks towards her, and she stands her ground. “He always was a lonely creature. I had hoped my former apprentice had found an alternative to another old crone to call a friend.”

“You mean Asher Mir?” She asks, and waits. Something like fury flashes in Toland’s eyes as he composes himself, stopping in front of her. She sees now, the haunting way Grier first described him and why. Flecks of silver in his hair which is greying at the root, styled but stuck up in several directions mirroring the crazed but composed expression along his face. This continues in his other aspects, down to his dress, his gaunt skin, how he looks at Avia, _really_ looks like he’s trying to figure out the most precise way to pull her apart.

“Yes. Mir.”

“An associate of yours also?”

Toland snorts, then collects himself. “Hardly.”

The silence that follows hangs heavy. Avia’s gaze flits to the journal that has reappeared at Tolands side.

“Have you know him long, then, Miss?” Toland asks, and suddenly she feels like a specimen under a microscope.

Wherever Grier is, she hopes it’s far, far from here. Were mercy on her side, then whatever Toland has in his hand wouldn’t be a detrimental loss to her friend. Toland fascinates and scares her in equal amounts, though she’d be dead before she admitted the latter. A stark and obvious truth ricochets and makes her feel powerless; she doesn’t know enough about him. She can’t show her hand, and she doesn’t know how to force his.

So, she plays along.

“Oh, not at all.” She says, silently denying his request for a name. “This is my first time in London, you see. Family matters, of which Grier is assisting me.”

Toland raises an eyebrow, a gentleman’s way of prompting further explanation. If only he were a gentleman.

“I won’t bore you with the details, truthfully I won’t be in the city for long. I had hoped to speak to him tonight. You can understand my worry when I saw the door was open.”

“Ah. Of course. London can be a treacherous place, to the untraveled.”

Avia furrows her brows. “Bold, coming from the stranger who broke door.”

And at that, the air hangs even heavier. Toland squints his eyes, breathes in through his nose, and then straightens his back.

“Shall we stop playing pretend, dear?”

“What?”

His smirk widens as he pockets the journal and presses Avia’s stance. She’s loathe to move backwards, the back of her knees hitting a coffee table. She keeps her balance and stares the older man down.

“You must think yourself so clever. But you forget, any normal person would have ran the second they saw the door off the latch.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” she starts, tricking herself into thinking she’s still playing the game. “I was worried for my friend. Wouldn’t any normal person make sure they’re okay?”

“Would you consider yourself and the Sovs normal people?” Tolands smirk is twisted. The game is up, and Avia allows him to take up the silence. “Do they know where you spend your evenings? Not just in the company of my dear former assistant, your _friend_ , but also that of an American with his own slew of secrets?”

The dagger in Avia’s waistcoat weighs heavy, her fingers twitching for it. She can’t make a move, though. She’s heard tales of the cost of underestimating Toland.

“They know all about you,” she spits. “They know what you’ve done, who you are, and so do I.”

He laughs again and it skitters across Avia’s skin, pulling a sneer from her lips.

“Dear girl,” he says, leaning forwards. She can feel his breath, like deaths cruel chill, across her cheek as she turns away. “Who do you think facilitated that?”

Her stomach drops. The surprise that fills her is short lived, however, and that familiar sense of the Sovs secrecy encroaching on her life grips her throat like a vice.

“Your employers have done much to aid in my ventures. I suppose I never had the chance to say thank you. Do give them my regards,” Toland backs away, keeping his eyes on her. He turns then, making for the door.

“That journal doesn’t belong to you.” Avia calls, dipping her hand back into her waistcoat.

Toland wraps his hand around the doorknob and pulls it gently, casting a look over his shoulder. “I invite you to come take it.”

Avia smiles then, but the second her hand wraps around the handle of her knife, a pained groan behind her catches her attention.

She whirls her head around and down, to see a pale arm stretched out behind the sofa. Blood runs in a dried stripe towards the wrist.

“Grier?”

Another moan, laced with agony. The hand starts to shake and only now can Avia see how pale it is.

“Grier!”

She turns and scrambles behind the sofa. There Grier lies, his eyes screwed shut, and empty needle sticking out of his neck. A rich red line of blood, dried and sticky falls from the injection down his neck, underneath his brown shirt and across the shoulder, continuing to the wrist as Avia discovered him. Avia drops to her knees, hovering her hands over Grier’s head. She shakes – his skin near enough matches his stark white hair.

Her mind moved through the motions in a flurry. She plucks the needly gently from the crook of Grier’s outstretched neck. She keeps it nearby as she moves Grier’s head to her lap, crossing her legs and cradling his face in her hands.

He’s ice cold, but she moves her fingers to find a pulse. It’s faint, oh so faint. She’s left more alive men to bleed out in the street, their names forgotten on the dirty cobbles. Her heart leaps to her throat.

“Grier, please,” she begs.

His eyes flutter open just slightly, “Avia?” he breathes, something like desperate confusion across his face.

“I’m here,” she replies, voice hoarse. She tears off a scrap of her shirt and presses it against the prick in his neck that’s begun to bleed again. A shadow casts over them, and Avia looks back up into Tolands face.

“What did you--”

“Ah, ah, hush now, he won’t die.” Toland kneels next to her. “He’ll be in excruciating pain, of which he’ll experience every minute for a few hours. But, he will live.”

“ _Why_ ,” Avia seethes. “Why did you do this? He wouldn’t hurt anyone!”

“I wonder,” Toland brushes Grier’s fringe from in front of his closed eyes, just as Avia has done so many times. Fury flares in her, and it’s only because her hands are supporting Grier that she doesn’t smack those thin fingers away. “If he’ll tell you. Or if your dear employer knows.”

“What makes you think I care?”

That catches Toland off guard. He looks at her then, that piercing stare she’s become familiar with, trying to read the defiance on her face.

“Did you think I was pious?” She asks as Grier stirs. She runs her thumb across his cheek. “Do you know what _I’ve_ done?”  

Toland stands, still looking down at her.

“Oh,” she laughs then, her mouth wide and her teeth showing. “Did you think I was seeking some semblance of normal from him? Just a poor, naïve little girl wanting more than to crawl around in the dark? Is that what you thought?”

Grier whines, his body shaking, a hand wrapping desperately around Avia’s forearm as a wave of pain overcomes him.

“I know what this world is,” she starts, gripping Grier back but aiming everything she has at Toland. “I know all about men like you, and him. And I know the difference.”

“The difference?” Toland says. “The difference, _child_ , is right before your eyes.”

And with that, Toland leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> chapter 2 sneak preview cause i dont know when i'll finish that lmao: 
> 
> 'Eden wipes Grier’s face with the cloth, her large hazel eyes as soft and concerned as Avia has ever seen them. She places her hand underneath Grier’s chin and tips the vial into his mouth, the clear liquid pouring down his throat. She puts the cloth over his mouth as he stutters, Avia’s heart leaping to her chest but she has faith in Eden, unbreakably so. 
> 
> Eden keeps the liquid down, and Avia notices Grier relax. He goes limp in her arms, breathing softly, his brow softens. 
> 
> “What was that?” She asks as Eden lets out the breath she’d been holding. 
> 
> “For the pain,” she starts, taking Grier’s hand in her own and squeezing it. “Stronger than morphine, experimental but it was the best thing I could find. If I knew what he was injected with, I might be able to do more.” 
> 
> “I have the needle,” Avia says, as Grier starts to breathe deep. “I was hoping you could take it to Scarlet, ask her if she could find anything.” 
> 
> “I will, she’ll be at the university at this hour no doubt,” Eden says, placing a second hand over her own. She looks at Avia and asks; “So, this is Grier?” 
> 
> Avia smiles, a soft sad thing. “Indeed.”
> 
> Eden reaches up to push a lock of his hair away from his eyes, his face becoming more sombre. “It’s a shame to meet him like this.” 
> 
> The air hangs silent. 
> 
> “What happened, Avia?”'


End file.
